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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016993">With this Ring (of Fire)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy'>BatsAreFluffy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Justice Lords - Fandom, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Branding, Capture, Day 14: Branding, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Imprisonment, It's there just not described, M/M, Mild Blood, Whumptober 2020, mild ABO content</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:42:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The brand wasn’t enough, Lord Superman decided after his first discussion with the other world’s Batman. It was simple, and elegant, and showed to anyone who saw it that this lesser being was owned by only one being.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Lord Batman/Lord Superman (Justice Lords Universe), lord superman/bruce wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>With this Ring (of Fire)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>trying different perspectives in one fic. Not sure how it works.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was still hanging as Superman, eye-wateringly bright in red and blue, flew into the cell.</p>
<p>Each escape had earned him broken fingers. Broken thumbs. Broken metacarpals. One sliced off finger. He’d stopped after that. There didn’t seem to be any point. He broke out, he got to the edge of the room, the forcefield alerted Him, and by the time he could smell the snow outside, he was hanging in chains again. White hot agony would join him, the only whiteness he could touch.</p>
<p>Besides, he’d not found a stitch of clothing the last three escapes. Or cloth. Or anything he could makeshift into a blanket. No drapes, no tapestries, no blankets, no pillows. There was nothing save the barren rooms, and wooden furniture. Oh, and the blood on the floor from his phonics lesson.</p>
<p>Clark was crying as he slipped his cape around his shoulders. His chains were gone, and Clark was crying. Those emotions shouldn’t have been at the same time. Clark should be happy. He’d not seen happiness on that face for many weeks.  He’d not seen it since the night before this mission, laying together in the afterglow, his head on Clark’s shoulder, laughing at something inane.</p>
<p>He’d not seen it on Lord Superman’s face at all.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The brand wasn’t enough, Lord Superman decided after his first discussion with the other world’s Batman. It was simple, and elegant, and showed to anyone who saw it that this lesser being was owned by only one being. But it wasn’t enough to make the man talk.</p>
<p>He pondered whether it was the placement, but decided that he rather liked it on Bruce’s neck, just below his jaw. This version wasn’t an omega, and had no glands to bite. So, it was reasonable that he mark this one as his in some other, equally visual way.</p>
<p>Perhaps he needed another one, in another location? It might help loosen this version’s tongue. He needed information about the rebels that he’d been caught with. When he’d tired of talking, questioning, and mild interrogation tactics, he’d come into the cell, stripped the human of the last of his under suit, and branded his house sigil right above his flaccid cock.</p>
<p>The point of the sigil lead neatly down to the cock he wanted to be sucking most nights. That made it even more beautiful than the first one.</p>
<p>Tattoos told a story of the person getting them. They could also tell the story of the person giving them. Lord Superman had a single narrative that he wanted the world to know: <em>Bruce Wayne is mine, now and forever.</em> He’d been denied his mate, his true love, after death. The family, rest in peace, had incinerated the body before he had found out.</p>
<p>He would make his claim known - even if he had to spell it out on his property.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After a few sessions, Bruce couldn’t talk for the pain. The burns across his skin took away any control over himself that he had. When he’d stopped being able to stand, Lord Superman had hung his wrists from the ceiling.</p>
<p>When he’d voided his bowels after being branded internally, the alien had simply brought clean clothes and cleaned up his new marks.</p>
<p>When he’d wept into his chest after being redressed in the beginning, the alien had placed him into bed, and injected a soft sedative, petting his hair and whispering the words over again until Bruce passed out.</p>
<p>When he’d vomited his rations after a particularly long sentence, he stopped feeding Bruce until after lessons.</p>
<p>The lesson days were all the same. The nights always the same.</p>
<p>
  <em>Kal was panting into Bruce’s neck, kissing the first brand on his throat. He was balls deep in his love’s entrance, steadily working his way up to climax. He’d been kind, and made Bruce come once already, but the human was still fighting. Still resisting Kal’s claim. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Bruce,” he whispered in his ear. “Enough, just lay back, enjoy yourself. Don’t fight me anymore; you’re mine, and you will always be mine.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bruce had snarled, twisted, and managed to get to his hands and knees before Kal grabbed his neck and punched his way back inside. “You are mine!” he snarled, eyes glowing red. “Do I have to spell it out for you!?” Another slam of his hips, one hand reaching around and pulling harshly on the half hard cock. Bruce cried out, thrashing, even as Kal finished inside him. But this time, he stayed inside, let his knot inflate. It had been so long. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bruce squirmed under him. “What – what are you doing?” he gasped, trying to pull away. They were joined, Bruce would not be able to move for at least 20 minutes. “Get out, get out get out!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Lord Superman shushed him, stroking the long back. Such a plain canvas to work on. He’d start in the middle, he decided, and branch out his desires as they came to him.  “Hush, Bruce,” he’d said, tilting his head. “Hold still.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bruce settled, tense under him. It was long enough to make ten quick dots of burned flesh, as guiding marks, for his work. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“The Kryptonian language is very flowing, despite the many harsh angles of the alphabet. It leads itself to calligraphy quite well.” He shifted inside Bruce, drawing a groan as his knot hooked on the edge of Bruce’s hole. “And what is more beautiful than wedding vows, written in flowing cursive across an alabaster canvas?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There was a set of cuffs at the end of the bed. Without unjoining, Kal thrust Bruce down the bed until his wrists would reach, and snapped them both inside. “I’ve never written my vows in my own language before, so you’ll have to stay still. Don’t want any spelling mistakes.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“The first is always for Rao, and is a flowing circle, like this,” and he’d used his heat vision to carve the symbol into Bruce’s back. Bruce bellowed into the mattress, walls clenching hard on Kal’s cock. It was delicious. Intoxicating.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He needed more.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>So he continued.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Even as Bruce thrashed, cried, screamed, and wept, Lord Superman kept talking, and writing his words into the fine skin beneath him. </em>
</p>
<p>Forever.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clark cried as his lover was slowly taken from his arms, and placed in the Watchtower’s medical suite. He cried into Diana’s shoulders, and whispered what the words carved into Bruce’s skin meant. The joining vows for two Kryptonians.</p>
<p>All 17 verses.</p>
<p> </p>
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